


will you ever pull me closer

by SecretReyloTrash (BadOldWest)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Affection, Canon Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Intimacy, Naked Cuddling, Post-Coital, Post-Coital Cuddling, based on art by lilithsaur, canonverse, soft reylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/SecretReyloTrash
Summary: “I want you to know...I feel closer to you.”“Yes?”“After we’ve done this. I just feel—Maybe more than I’ve ever felt to anybody. When we...”“Yes,” he shivers when her fingers dance down his sweaty chest, chilled by the dance of her skin, “I feel it too.”





	will you ever pull me closer

**Author's Note:**

> this was based on this incredible drawing by my wife, lilithsaur. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/lilithsaur/status/1163251288819286017

There’s a moment where he feels he must have ruined things when Rey swivels her head to press her face into the pillow. It’s still plumped, plush, from the other side of the bed being unused, since they had rumpled and used the side  _ his _ body now occupies. His insides feel leaden when she gives a little, high-pitched grunt, and then quickly goes silent, her bare shoulders relaxing. 

The squeak was animalistic, but he’s not naturally inclined to decode even verbal expressions in his language of basic...

His arm feels cold from where she rolled off of leaning against to collapse into the pile of fluff. 

“Are you…?” his throat is dry, “I’m...sorry…”

She pokes one eye up from the pillowcase.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

She’s got this little smile at the corner of her mouth, playful, that is as thrilling as it is deeply unnerving. He swallows and lifts his eyes from her. 

“I...you…” he stares at the ceiling as his chest rises and falls unsteadily. His heart is still hammering, exertion would have waned by now if it was just physically, but mentally, emotionally, he’s winded by their activities.

Awkwardly, he attempts to pat the bare expanse of her muscled back, but the skin under his fingers is delicately soft, and plump, and he knits his eyes shut when he realizes-

“You haven’t had enough? You need a handful of my  _ ass?” _

Rey’s giggling softly into the pillow, her spine arching into his touch in a way that does not match her indignant words, even if his hand is frozen limp on the closest cheek of her backside, too frightened to even snatch it away. Her shoulders tremor with soft laughs even after he does return his hand to his side, now in a fist. 

“Ben…”

She twists back onto her side, though not touching him. 

She’s been more comfortable being naked like this. Not intensely, she’s not flaunting, but she doesn’t burrow into the sheets to avoid being seen.

Has she had enough? Does she not need to be touched until she wanted  _ this _ again?

He stares at the ceiling, not looking at her, a knot in his throat.

“Ben.”

Her hand splays across the strong core of his torso, stroking in a wide circle. 

This is so...naked. He’s inclined to thick layers of clothing to begin with, but this kind of bare is frightening. 

He tries not to stare too openly at her. 

“Mmm,” she rests her chin on his shoulder, “this was nice.”

Too automatically for a monster, he turns into her weight and rests his lips to her brow.

“You think?”

It spills out of him too quickly, too earnestly: but he’s been worried about it since before he caught his breath. 

Rey is quiet for a moment. Her slender wrist twists on itself, bringing her downturned hand up to stroke her knuckles up the expanse of his chest.

He prays she doesn’t feel how hard his heart is beating. 

“I want you to know...I feel closer to you.”

This is unexpected, so much so he is waiting for the words to be a way to soften her disappointment. 

_ “Yes?” _

“After we’ve done this. I just feel—Maybe more than I’ve ever felt to anybody. When we...”

Relief fills him. 

She’s still not able to look at him as she says it, her cheeks faintly colored at the admission, her tone a soft hum that buzzes against his skin.

His head tilts back into his own bedded-down pillow, hair falling in an almost liquid state off his brow. Her breath stirs the finer strands close to his ears, she just keeps moving her hand -less curious, more knowing- in uneven patterns across his skin.

Her skin against his body, it’s appreciative, the way she is rubbing her breast on his arm very slowly and sensually. He’d be suspicious of her intention to arouse if she didn’t seem just as scrambled as he felt. 

It’s not with intention. She just likes the feel of this. 

He was so certain when he was inside her, her almost-feral howls, unrefined, perfect thing that she was. The way she clawed into his skin and didn’t bite out a single apology for it. Rey, the woman who apologized to him for thinking of something from a battle between that made his nose wrinkle at breakfast the other morning,  _ thinking _ it, as if she could help what she thought and what he saw. She was a different creature in such an intimate setting. 

Giving him everything.

He was so sure because of the pulse in the Force between them, connecting them, making them unable to feel anything else. Her pleasure had been inside him, and he felt his in turn given into her.

But this. In bed. Afterwards. His ears are practically ringing from the silence. It takes a lot out of both of them, lonely creatures, to gather back into themselves. They are more reserved. It’s also softer, more playful, her little, abashed yip into the pillow when she was too embarrassed to say what she just told him.

A slight bitterness, an old familiar greed, rises in his chest that they  _ ever _ have to be separate. That she be splayed out beneath him, or him underneath her, the roll of hips and the breath passed between them all they need to concern themselves with…

The consumption of it all startles him, too close to old, painful temptations, and he settles his soul back over his bones where it belongs instead of trying to thrust it into hers.

He knows she notices the struggle, but holds her own and doesn’t even flinch at the weight he thrust on her and just as quickly removed. 

It’s not over when he’s not inside her. What’s alive between them. Hidden in themselves. Cracked open to share. 

There’s a knowing smirk on her face, no fear, and she opens her own self to him for a brief glimpse. The same longing, the same lust, it fills the space shared by their minds and he loses his breath. It barrels into him with just as much fury as his own. The longing for just this. 

He sees it in the curve of her neck the slight tremble of her shoulders. It’s not fought, not a vicious coil inside herself, like his is inside of him. It’s felt and accepted: stroked and then let free into the ether. It dissolves around them like mist, a part of the very air but not the entirety of either self. 

There were always the same feelings nested inside them.

“Yes,” he shivers when her fingers dance down his sweaty chest, chilled by the motion of her skin, “I feel it too.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from Sober (Stripped) by Chelsea Taylor


End file.
